


Ember

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin enjoys Bilbo by the fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ember

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “I just want to see Thorin and Bilbo having gentle, romantic, sweet sweet vanilla sex in front of the fireplace.” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=21250047#t21250047).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Each time he comes close to the finish line, Thorin grits his teeth and tosses back, looks away from Bilbo across the circular living room. He tries to think of other things, to distance himself, and Bilbo understands and slows, until Thorin licks his lips and nods and they can go on again. 

Bilbo feels _so very good_ , in every way, but most like this, when he’s stretched wide around Thorin’s cock, his velvet walls fluttering with every thrust. His stubby fingers are spread on Thorin’s chest, thighs open across Thorin’s lap. He rides Thorin with a clumsy sort of beauty, pretty and sensual but thoughtless, heedless, and maybe less practiced. Thorin used to pride himself on his stamina, but his burglar wrings so much out of him. Bilbo, naked and aglow on one side from the fire, is a vision straight from his dreams. Bilbo’s small but plump, all soft curls and little tufts of gold-brown hair. His cheeks are flushed, lids heavy and pupils blown wide. His lips are still kiss-swollen, though he sits up now, because when they kiss too much, Thorin can’t last. He _loves Bilbo_ too much, and that boils over whenever their mouths come together.

Thorin lies back on the thick rug before Bilbo’s fireplace. His hands are fisted in Bilbo’s hips, his knees spread and his feet braced against the floor. Mostly, he lets Bilbo do the work. But when he thinks he can afford it, he bucks up and watches Bilbo bounce, drinks in the little gasp and strangled cry, and he wonders what he ever did to deserve something this _perfect_.

Bilbo mumbles, “Thorin,” after a time. His voice is higher-pitched, strained, sex-slicked and heavy. His body’s glistening with stray beads of sweat. The sound of slapping skin-on-skin nearly drowns out his breathy whimpers. Thorin can see that he’s close and pets down along his thighs, rubbing them, encouraging more—as much as Bilbo can take. It makes everything worth it. The trip from Erebor would have been worth it for just a quick romp in Bag End’s gardens, but their day and evening have been so much _more_ , so wondrous and sweet, and he knows their night will be the same. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever go back. He catches Bilbo’s eyes and Bilbo whispers, “Thorin, _ahh_ —”

Then Bilbo buckles forward, his little hands trembling, palms sliding up Thorin’s chest, rifling through dark curls. They reach Thorin’s shoulders and slip into his hair, fisting tight to hold on. Bilbo bends low enough that Thorin can tilt up to kiss his forehead and moan in response, “ _Bilbo_...”

A sudden thrust, harsher than all those before, comes not from Thorin, but from Bilbo. Bilbo drops himself heavily down and clenches tight around Thorin, screaming as his stout cock bursts across Thorin’s chest. Now that it’s too late to make this last, Thorin diverts one hand to help. He wraps around Bilbo’s shaft and pumps out Bilbo’s release, while Bilbo whines and grinds into his grip, rear wriggling in Thorin’s lap. Thorin’s already panting—he can’t take much more.

He follows with a feral roar, throwing his head back and arching off the floor, even with all of Bilbo now boneless atop of him. His vision dances, blurring in the firelight, his skin burning. He drowns in pleasure and fills Bilbo up, reveling in each new sound and feeling it brings him. 

When he’s finished, he slumps back against the rug. Without the haze of his orgasm, Bilbo seems heavier. But it’s a weight Thorin’s happy to bear. He tosses one arm around Bilbo’s middle, holding Bilbo down, and Bilbo nuzzles into the crook of his neck. With a bit of squirming, Bilbo manages to lift off of Thorin’s flagging cock, though he settles back atom Thorin after, like a particularly thick, oddly shaped blanket. Both of them are panting. Thorin’s head is still swimming. 

He doesn’t want to go back. He loves his home, and he has to—he’s a king with duties. He _belongs_ in that mountain, but he also belongs in Bilbo’s arms. If he could, he’d toss Bilbo right over his shoulder and set off again. 

But Bilbo is stronger than they ever gave him credit for, and Bilbo loves the Shire. It’s something they have to discuss, though Thorin’s kept putting it off, because he doesn’t want to fight when he can just hold his burglar by his side and enjoy it.

He’ll have to ask. There must be some way they can have more than cursory visits. He wants to ask Bilbo to _marry him_ , come back as a prince of Erebor, where they can continue the adventure _together._

He tries to ask, and murmurs, “Bilbo.”

But Bilbo doesn’t answer. Thorin tilts his head to look, then lifts up on one elbow, not enough to move Bilbo but enough to glimpse his face. Bilbo’s already fast asleep. Thorin can tell immediately and would’ve known from the start if he weren’t too busy in his own head. He should’ve known; they had too much tea and too many crumpets and already shared a story, and sex always tires Bilbo out. Grinning in spite of himself, Thorin pecks Bilbo’s forehead.

Then he waits a little while, basking in the pleasant afterglow, before getting up to carry his burglar off to bed.


End file.
